


Ghosts and Prejudice

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel isn't enjoying the town ball, until he catches the eye of the rich, handsome Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts and Prejudice

The ballroom was as rowdy as it always was on these occasions, vibrant and vaguely insalubrious. The air was muggy with wine and sweat, and the wide wooden beams across the ceiling groaned as excited young girls and swaggering young men raced up and down the steps to the balcony.

Castiel sat quietly on a chair at the back of the lower level, sipping wine to ease his parched throat. He’d danced twice that night, and considered his duty done. Sequestered in his seat behind a row of giggling siblings, the youngest member of the Novak family settled in to wait for his family to be ready to leave. He glanced upwards at the row of faces along the balcony: mostly sweaty, red-faced mothers, waving their fans back and forth and making their curls flutter as they watched their children’s progress with sharp, all-seeing eyes. At the end of the row was a pair of men, leaning casually over the railing. The taller one had long dark hair, and was talking fast while looking down at a pretty blonde girl dancing at the centre of the room. The shorter one had lighter hair and a wide, relaxed grin on his face. As Castiel watched, the man’s eyes flicked over to him and their gazes met. Castiel swallowed and looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring.

Across the hall, Castiel spied his mother speaking to his father. Naomi’s face was pinched with irritation as she glared around the ballroom. Castiel grimaced, and downed the rest of his wine in one gulp just as his mother caught sight of him. She moved across the room with a look of dark purpose in her eyes. Castiel sat straight up in his seat, his mouth pinched small in defiance.

“Castiel,” Naomi began, speaking loudly so that she could be heard over the orchestra. “Where have you been? What do you think you’re –”

“Excuse me,” came a deep voice from behind Naomi. She span around, and Castiel jumped to his feet when he recognised the handsome man he’d been watching just a minute before. “Is there something wrong?”

“My son Castiel is a reluctant dancer,” Naomi explained with a forced smile. “Since there are so many ladies without a partner here tonight, I consider wallflower an ill-advised occupation for him.”

“Oh, well,” the man replied, his hands clasped neatly behind his back and his smile flawlessly polite, “that will be my fault. I was speaking to, uh, to Castiel just a moment ago upstairs, and I asked him to wait for me down here, so that we could continue our conversation. Isn’t that right, Castiel?” the man looked over at him, his eyes twinkling softly with mischief.

“Ah,” Castiel ground out. “Ah, yes, our conversation. We were talking about, about – um,” he met the man’s gaze again, his throat sticking.

“Ghosts,” the man said.

“Yes, ghosts,” said Castiel. “Dead ones.”

Naomi watched them with narrowed eyes.

“Dead ghosts.”

The man nodded knowingly, and Castiel followed his lead.

“That’s the best kind, after all,” the man said, smiling slightly on the side of his mouth that Castiel could see. His jawline was strong, and Castiel caught himself staring at the soft, short hair of his sideburns. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor.

“Is that so?” Naomi was saying. “Who exactly are you, sir?”

“Please excuse my rudeness,” the man said. “My name is Dean Winchester.” He bowed.

Naomi gaped.

“ _The_ Dean Winchester?”

“The one and only,” the man, Dean, replied with a grin. Castiel felt his stomach flip, and ran his tongue over his top lip nervously. Dean was watching him, and for a second he could have sworn that Dean’s gaze lingered slightly on his mouth –

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Castiel, would you mind if we went outside to keep talking about… ghosts?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said. He walked beside Dean out of the ballroom, feeling the tension between them pulling tighter with every step.

The night air was cool and refreshing, the courtyard in front of them deserted. Dean leant casually against the arch over the wooden back door behind them. Castiel stood facing him, uncertain. Why had Dean, eldest son of the rich and famous Winchester family, come to his aid? He thought back to when their eyes had met, the swoop in his stomach. It couldn’t have been because – no, surely not.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“My pleasure,” Dean replied with a cheeky grin. “I saw your mother heading towards you from the balcony, and I thought, there’s a man in need of assistance.”

Castiel nodded mutely. So it had just been a friendly gesture, nothing more. He tried to stave off the twist of disappointment in his gut.

“And,” Dean said. “Since I wanted to talk to you anyway, it wasn’t so difficult.”

Castiel looked up into Dean’s green eyes; they were wide and sincere. His full lips were pulled into a small smile.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Castiel repeated, tilting his head to one side. “Why?”

“Well,” Dean said, looking away for a second and licking his upturned lips, “see, I’ve heard you’re the expert around here on dead ghosts…”

Castiel grinned and reached out to push Dean’s shoulder lightly, letting his hand rest there for a moment. Dean stood up straight and moved forward slightly, into Castiel’s space.

“Is this –“ Castiel broke off, feeling his heart hammering. If he was wrong, if he was misreading the situation and Dean accused him of impropriety, his reputation would never recover. “Dean. Are you –” Castiel stuttered, hearing the low growl in his own voice as Dean put a matching hand on his shoulder.

“I am, yes,” Dean said softly. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said hoarsely. He moved his hand down the lapel of Dean’s jacket. “Is this acceptable?”

Dean smiled. “Oh, yes,” he said. His arm moved further around Castiel, one strong hand resting at the small of his back.

“And this?” Castiel murmured as he stepped closer, making the distance between them barely perceivable. He felt Dean’s breath against his lips, and clenched his hand in the front of Dean’s coat.

“Yes,” Dean replied, placing his other hand on Castiel’s hip, digging his fingers in to feel the hipbone under his high-waisted breeches.

“And this,” Castiel said, leaning forwards and kissing Dean. His lips were wide and soft, a slight burn of bristle under the lower one, and then Dean opened his mouth and Castiel gasped, the warmth and the taste overwhelming. When they broke apart, Castiel didn’t open his eyes for a few seconds.

“Yes,” he heard Dean mumble. “Yes.”

They didn’t go back inside for a long, long time.


End file.
